Wild Turkey in the morning: Mackworth Island Trail

I admit it. I allowed that old foe Sloth to take over my weekend. He's a tough sort of fellow and isn't scared off by half-hearted protestations like, "You better be gone in the morning! I swear I'll be up crazy early tomorrow and I AM going to run - I MEAN it!"

I didn't mean it and he knew it. So he unpacked his overnight bag and we spooned on the couch for 20 hours straight.

But this morning I mustered determination, kicked his arse out and headed to Mackworth Island for some "me" time. The island is small, but it boasts the Mackworth Island Trail - an easy 1.25 mile loop with a constant view of Casco Bay.

The trail is open essentially from dawn to dusk, give or take. An there's no charge to use the trail. It does see some heavier traffic in the afternoons on nice days - so the small parking lot is prone to overflowing. But at 7:00 a.m. on a Monday you'll have the place to yourself...mostly.

So I take off at the trail head just off the the parking lot - and not one minute in I spot a pile of something in the path. A bag of garbage? A pile of leaves? Dad?

Suddenly the pile of whatever-it-is moves - spreads its wings out and starts walking. OMG - it's a turkey! I mean - a dang turkey! My first instinct is to laugh at the unexpected nature of nature. But then I realize that I don't know anything about turkeys. Are they mean? Do they give chase?

My knowledge base on large birds is limited to pond geese, which are completely different from turkeys, I know, but it's all I have to go on. And I remember being 10 or 11 and playing by the local pond with a friend and then hearing her shriek and take off running. And I watched in stupefied horror as that goose chased her for 30 or so yards before catching up and biting her good and hard on the rear.


So I stopped in my tracks. Am I destined to die by turkey on this cool spring morning? Is this payback for all those delicious deli turkey sandwiches I've heartlessly consumed over the last 29 years? Do the turkey and I need to talk it out?

I took a few steps, purposely kicking up gravel to make noise, and the turkey shuffled off the path into the open field.

Phew. Turkey brawl averted.

A staircase from the parking lot leads down to the small beach - an ideal place for a stretch or appreciating the Portland-from-a-distance view.

There are a couple of staircases on the island in case you're a glutton for punishment and want to sprint up and down them. I tried it once...it was hard so I stopped.

There are also benches scattered along the trail, though I'm not sure why. There's nothing at all scenic to look at. I mean, I guess there's the sun rising over the calm, early-morning water - but who wants to look at THAT?

Percival Baxter had more dogs than he probably should have - as evidenced by the pet cemetery that lists a dozen or so dogs (and a horse or two) that Baxter buried here. At some point somebody's got to say, "Listen, Percy, I just don't think yer meant to have a dog, seein' as they just keep dying on you and all. Why don't you get one of those fancy pinball machines?"


By far, though, the biggest draw to the island is the Fairy Village. Visitors are encouraged to build miniature homes out of whatever natural materials they can find: stones, bark, grasses, etc. My colleague Wendy and her kids have explored the dickens out of Mackworth and the Fairy Village. She does a much better job capturing the experience, too.

Having already confronted turkeys on the trail, my sensitivity to the birds was heightened. I was like a seasoned hunter (well, without the gun, gear or desire to kill anything). I could spot a turkey at a distance, with 100-percent accuracy. I could creep upon the creature with the quiet stealth of a jungle cat.

Of course, even we trained professionals sometimes mistake a tree stump for a turkey. Guess my Turkey Hunter dreams will never be fulfilled.

Mackworth is still recovering from last year's Patriots Day storm (which had the trail shut down for quite some time). The trail looks fabulous, but there are a few areas on the north side of the island that still bear the scars.

Ah, look! Portland! And the same Sprague tanks from last week's run. Thank goodness! I hate to be away from them.


Tanks aside, the trail is ridiculously scenic. It's a wide, mostly flat trail - making it easy to run on. I stopped to take pictures every 30 seconds so after going around once I decided to go around again for a 2.5-mile total. That's the nice thing about short loops - you're not committed to some long distance once you get started. You can stop after one mile if you're tired. But that's the bad thing about short loops - you can stop after just one mile.

But today's dramatic encounter with the mystic turkey of the northeast was life-affirming in the end. I fear the feathered beast no more, and I WILL be back to Mackworth (armed with a tranquilizer gun...you know, just in case).

The problem with food is...it exists

I've heard that weight loss is 90% diet and 10% exercise. If that's even remotely true, I'm in deep sugar.

It means that jogging 2-3 times a week doesn't cancel out the six-pack of Geary's or the garbage fries or the Portland Pie Harbor Master that I had for breakfast.

It means that the workouts and the sweating and the "running ugly" will never bridge the chasm between me and the skinny pants of my past.

Fine. So I'll make good food choices instead of bad ones. Apples over donut holes. How hard can that be?

But the thing is, when the good-for-you grub sits hidden amongst the lively and spirited not-so-good-for-you food, it's hard to hit the "ignore" button.

It's temptation. It's calling your name. It's like it's meant to be.

It's the same reason why milk and eggs are at the back of the grocery store: so you'll have to walk down the crazy-delicious chocolate chip cookie isle. And everyone knows you won't be able to turn those little Keebler elves down. You're a sucker.

And 27 cookies later you'll be cursing yourself and you'll be feeling awful (and a little nauseated because that's a lot of cookies you just ate) when really you should be blaming the real ruiner of life: the grocery store manager.

I mean, I don't want to point fingers or anything, but clearly it's his fault. He's had it out for you from the start. (That's right Mr.! We're on to you!)

My point is, it isn't easy to reach past the Twix and grab a banana.

Which is why the new vending machines at our office gave me such a chuckle. At first glance it all looks on the up and up.

There's a "Balanced Choices" sign inside the machine encouraging eaters to "Taste the Possibilities." Oh my, that sounds lovely!

They've taken the liberty of pointing out healthy options with a quaint green leaf. Great idea, actually. Take the guesswork out. Books like "Eat This, Not That" only prove that, on the whole, we do a crappy job of figuring out what to eat.

So I scan the machine for green leaves (ignoring the irony of the sign's proximity to a bag of Doritos).



Hmm...not there...not there...not there....Where ARE the green leaves? Oh, there's one on some Kettlecorn. Not there...not there...not there....Oh! There's another one on some pretzels! How exciting! Pretzels!

All counted, there are five green leaves in the machine. Five out of 40 (not including the gum). It's like a "Ha ha, you can't have this" machine. Hey machine - stop taunting me, man!

The other machine has some Smart Ones TV dinners - which is cool. I've seen people in the office eating them so they must be a hit. But just a smidge below those healthy alternatives...Snickers ice cream bars.

Ouch. That's going to be hard to ignore. It's so warm and spring-like out. Ice cream sounds wonderful.

I mean, I haven't had it in months. And it's not like I eat it all the time - it'll just be a Friday treat - just this once. I ran the Back Cove last night for crying out loud! I've earned it!

Stop listening to my internal monologue!

The Bug Light at the end of the tunnel

Don't get me wrong, the Back Cove is a lovely place to run - the sun glinting off the calm water, Portland's East End rising proudly in the distance, the crunch of gravel, the blowing wind, the 295 traffic, the honking autos and of course all the sweaty attractive people.

But sometimes you need a change of scenery.

Seeing as the training group hits up the Back Cove on a regular basis, I thought I'd start running other trails on the weekends. You know, spice up my running relationship a little.

So yesterday I ran the Bug Light trail (otherwise known as the portion of the Greenbelt bike path that ends up at Bug Light Park). I jog/walked it a couple of times last year and recalled it being a quiet, easy and moderately scenic jaunt.

My memory didn't fail me - it was quiet, it was easy and there was plenty of visual distraction.

I picked up the trail at the Hannaford parking lot. It's approx 2 miles to Bug Light Park according to MapMyRun.com, though I think it's closer to 1.5 based on the time it took me to run it.



The view of Portland across the water is cool - though better later in the season when the trees are green and leafy and the water's not filled with a winter's worth of garbage.


There's a sign taped to a garbage can admonishing the local "youth" (aka "troublemakers," "hooligans," "ruffians") for tipping the can over and being all-around disrespectful.


The bike path cuts through a residential neighborhood most of way, though the last half mile is a serene, cement-laden trip through warehouse heaven. It's okay, the park is just ahead and will erase any impending industrial park nightmares.


Look. It's a ship-like structure.


The path gets hazardous here - so don't get too sidetracked by the pretty view that you stop paying attention where you're feet are going. You might end up with a pound of pavement in your teeth.


Ah, there she is. Bug Light - you've sailed past her during many a booze cruise, I'm sure.


The water, the grassy, kite-welcoming hill, the well-placed benches, the chain of Sprague oil tanks...nature!

Take that hostility and run with it

I knew a girl in college who claimed to go running whenever she was stressed, upset or feeling crappy.

I could relate, since I did the same thing (except not so much "running" as "drinking").

She, of course, was in great shape. I, of course, didn't hang out with her much.

But since then I've wondered at how ridiculously fit we'd all be if we went out for a 5-mile run instead of a 5-glass binge when stresses crept up. I'd have a lot less jiggle in my walk, that's for sure.

And I'm lucky, my life isn't all that stressful. I hang with good people, the bills always manage to get paid and any children I may have had are now turning a profit through a little-known cattle ranch work program in the American Southwest.

I happen to love my job, too. And I'm not just saying that because my boss has spyware on my computer. This work suits me - and the "So this is what it's like to enjoy going to work" appreciation isn't lost on me.

But even good jobs have their moments. Or should I say, even happy employees have their breakdowns.

Yesterday afternoon I was on deadline with a project - and we all know deadlines are quick and easy ways to amp up the stress level. But I was feeling fine - plugging along with the work. Then - from nowhere - the spinning rainbow wheel of death! Nooo!

Mac users know what I'm talking about. It's that taunting (yet magically colorful!) spinning wheel that says, "Yea, that thing you were just working on...I didn't really like where you were going with it so I decided to just shut the whole process down. Go ahead - reboot. I'll be right here. I've got all the time in the world."

Maybe it's the moon's position in relation to the gravitational pull of Mercury's neoprimal subtuition (I just made that up). Maybe it was hyper-caffeination. Maybe it was delayed weekend detox. Maybe stress exists even in the best of workplaces.

Whatever. The point is I flipped a lid. I fancied giving my keyboard a chuck, but that's "frowned upon" according my annual review. I cursed at my monitor (sometimes in my head, but mostly out loud) and pressed my fingers to my temples to keep my skull from popping.

I was hostile. I was overflowing with angst.

"Well," I thought, "If it worked for that skinny broad I went to school with, maybe running off stress can work for me, too."

So off to the group run I went, head steaming, brow furrowed.

We were tackling the Back Cove in its entirety - my group expected to run 6 minutes, walk 2 minutes. A handful of us were feeling semi-confident that we could run longer portions, so we set off as a separate group to see how it went.

It went really well.

Ran from the store all the way around Back Cove with only 2 walk breaks. That's 4 miles people! 4!

Sure, carbs are great for instant energy. Energy bars and Goo and whatnot. But speaking from experience, hostility makes a decent fuel too.

Sinners on the mountain

In training, as in life, it isn't always possible to adhere to a plan (no matter how perfect the plan or how steadfast your intentions). Things come up. It happens.

Luckily, maintaining 100% compliance isn't a requirement for success. (If you can train for 4 or 6 or 8 months without ever missing a run, without ever succumbing to the siren song of the deep fryer, without ever swapping the Vitamin Water for a Geary's or two on a sunny Saturday afternoon, then yes, you've very hardcore and maybe also very OCD...and probably not a whole lot of fun to vacation with.)

The key is to not let that 'Woo-hoo-it's-Cinco-de-Mayo!' binge last for three weeks straight.

And hey, if amidst the entertainment you still manage to sneak a workout in, more power to you.

This weekend I headed up to Reggae Fest at Sugarloaf. It's a gluttonous weekend for most - a reminder of those hazy college years when beers were cracked at 1:00 p.m. and heads didn't hit pillows until dawn. This time, though, a few hours of skiing are jammed in there too (while wearing your underwear on the outside of your ski pants, of course, because hey, it's Reggae Fest).

Not being a very accomplished skier (just started learning this winter and would have spent the day alone and weeping on the bunny slope) I instead joined a friend cross country skiing on Saturday. I figured it wasn't likely I'd be getting any running done, so some light skiing would be a good alternative (it's called cross training, people).

I'm clearly Olympics bound (see my flawless form preparing to race down the flat terrain).

And despite all the crowds and riotousness everywhere else, the X-country trails were nearly desolate. After two hours of up hills and down hills and all-out communing with nature we saw only three other people.

One gentleman saw us and turned to his eight(ish)-year-old son and said, "See these nice young ladies out here being productive? Not like those sinners on the mountain."

Give us an hour, man. We'll be there too.

At any rate, it was a relaxing jaunt and a good workout. We finished up with some free Geary's courtesy of Teco, resident outdoorsman and Sugarloaf Outdoors Center employee.

Today, I can't seem to move my legs without a slight grimace. But it's cool. It's a good "I-did-something-productive-(not-like-those-sinners-on-the-mountain)" kind of pain.

It's about time

With yesterday's pleasing temps and sunshine, I was looking forward to the Thursday group run. I even sported some shorts for the first time in 2008 (legs, meet sun. You might remember each other from last year).

Not wanting to be late (and to hopefully garner a decent parking spot that wouldn't require too much walking on my part...yes, I see the irony) I headed out of my apartment at 6:15.

There were cars lining the side streets and the Maine Running Company parking lot, but I managed to snag a spot close to the building (thank you, Car Gnome, for keeping me ticket-free for five years and always managing to locate a parking spot for me when I really need it. Your presence on my rear view mirror brings a calmness to my heart).

But as I walked up to the store, I took note of the quiet on the street. No other runners fighting for parking. No one walking up to the door. No one stretching on the sunlit sidewalk out front. Strange.

The inside of Maine Running Company proved equally still and empty. Typically the store is packed with people - and now it stood quiet except for a saleswoman on the phone and another helping a customer.

I looked at the clock. 6:24. Where IS everyone?

Turns out, I thought the start time was something like this:

But it's really something more like this:

I have no idea where I got 6:30 from. But there I was, standing dumbly at the checkout counter, the training group long gone, feeling like a moron.

Training leader John Rogers said I might be able to catch up to my group, who had taken the Back Cove path toward Payson Park.

The moment of truth came when I had to walk past my closely parked car to get to the Back Cove.

"I can just leave," I thought. But my legs didn't turn toward the car. They didn't hesitate or slow down to give me time to ponder what to do. Instead, they started jogging. Jogging!

I ran (read: very slowly ran) to the Back Cove path and headed toward the park, figuring I'd eventually hit the group on their way back. I did - and Janice was kind enough to turn around and run the distance again with me.

"We're doing a 4:2 run/walk ratio today," she said.

"You know what, I've been running for 8 minutes already and I feel great. Let's just keep going." Damn straight.

We ran approx. two miles without walking. Ever. (Well, okay, a few blocks at the end to cool down. Why all the nit picking?)

It took me weeks to build up to that point last year, which means the runs at the gym really have paid off. Which also means that I'm feeling just a wee bit proud of myself today (okay, hugely proud of myself. You just don't anything go by, do you?).

It's gonna be a bright, bright, bright sunshiny day

Oh wait, it IS!

It's so pleasant, in fact, that I made the official winter-to-spring leap by forgoing socks this morning.

So I walked, feet unencumbered, into work. I was feeling the spring love and even tossing smiles and "good mornings" to strangers on the street.

But there, just in front of the Portland Public Library, I felt a stinging on my left heel. I took a few more steps, and with each one the stinging persisted, grew worse even, then spread to my right heel.

In an instant the memories of last summer came flooding back. There's a reason I stopped wearing these cursed shoes last year (something to do with the flesh-tearing).

Still, weather like this just makes people happy. Even less active folks are finding excuses to hang around outside. Say, for example, the woman who accosted me in front of the PPH building earlier this week:

[Firetrucks blaze by]

Woman: "Did you HEAR that?"

Me: "What, the firetrucks?"

Woman: "NO! What they've done!"

[Awkward pause]

Woman: "They've killed all the pigeons in Portland! There's only, like, five left! They've killed them all!"

Um, ok.

Anyway, my point is it's a good day for a run.

Aw, Sugar, why'd you do me like that?

Sugar is like a medieval catapult (you know, for humans).

Maybe you're having a little pow-wow to welcome some new coworkers to the office - nothing wall-splitting, just a "how do ya do, have a treat, let's get to know each other" sort of thing.

Inevitably somebody wheels in a tractor-sized people-launcher and you think, "Hey, I've been sticking to my Points Plan like a recently slapjacked military cadet, I deserve a little treat for my efforts." I mean, it's just one launch. You'll get back to the gym in the a.m. and the WW will never be the wiser.

So you climb in, eyes wide with enthusiasm, and throw out the "ready" signal (thumbs up paired with permagrin, of course).

And in an instant you're jetting high speed into the sky, weightless, cheeks rattling in the wind. Up, up, up!

But then your speed begins to wane. The once-upward angle of your flight has started to plateau. It's right about here, as your line of vision sinks from sun, to horizon, to Earth that you realize...this is going to end very, very badly.

A crash ensues. A crash you should have seen coming but you were blinded by flight.

Yea, that's what sugar's like.

Heed thy runner's commandments

So it's April. It's about as far away as I'm ever going to be from race day. Each week that passes means more running, more effort. Come July, I should be focused, serious and preparing to cross the finish line.

But like I said, it's only April. I'm just trying to get my head in the game, so to speak. The first group run has come and gone, which is a start, but as soon as I left last Thursday I knew with moderate certainty that my feet wouldn't see those shoes again for another week.

It's OK. It's only April.

But if I have any hope of not reliving last year's mess, I need to rethink my approach. No excuses about needing to spend quality time with the new couch or "precipitation and I don't mesh well."

So yesterday I perused some paperwork that was passed out at the Reach the Beacon training last week. It included some basic training information (benefits of running, dos and don'ts, breathing techniques, etc.) but it was the 'Commonsense Commandments" that caught my attention:

1. Eat breakfast
2. Get seven hours of sleep
3. Keep your weight down
4. Drink alcoholic beverages moderately
5. Exercise regularly

No time like the present to start incorporating these commandments into my daily routine. But I wouldn't attempt them all at once (too dangerous, I'd go into shock and be a risk to both myself and others...especially discourteous grocery store shoppers who absentmindedly push their carts into your ankles. It hurts. Things could get ugly. I'm just sayin').

So I'll start from the top of the list and work my way down over the next few weeks. Ease into it. Take baby steps.

So..."Eat breakfast." I can do that, see -->

Me and a 20,000-calorie coffee drink. That counts, right? Consider it my first step on the road to health. Well, not really a "step" in the physical sense - I did take the elevator.

Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Commandment No. 1: Check.

What is this word, "moderately" anyway?